


Here Lies One Whose Name Was Writ in Water

by esoteric_goblin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, and it only took a late night and some whiskey to let it spiral into this, apologies for how sad and somewhat dark it ended up being, it was originally meant as a bit of a character study, might finish up the parallel contrasting drabble i have in mind for jon, the opening line appeared in my thoughts a few days back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23749279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esoteric_goblin/pseuds/esoteric_goblin
Summary: Martin loves like breathing.
Kudos: 15





	Here Lies One Whose Name Was Writ in Water

**Author's Note:**

> okay i have a personal rule about not retracting works once i've posted them, because sharing things i make is a challenge and if i refuse to let myself back down in the rare instances i overcome it. having said that, this work will definitely be seeing heavy revision at some point. consider it an early draft.

Martin loves like breathing. In and out. It’s reflexive, intuitive, compulsory. He draws it in, holds it deep beneath his ribs, then pushes it back out into the world. He loves like a man drowning, sucking down lungfuls of water in the desperate hope for oxygen, for salvation. He finds none, but still he faithfully forces it all back out into the world and tries again. And again. And again.

_In and out._

Sometimes he remembers what the open air felt like. Most days he can’t believe there could be anything more than the burning weight of water in his lungs. So he takes it in, and forces it out, again. And again. And again. 

_In and out._

When there is no one to focus that love upon, no one to step up and receive it, he sends it out in other ways. In kind words, friendly greetings. In invitations and quiet support and cups of tea. He himself is a cup, filled to the brim and overflowing, spilling over into the world at large. No one could stop it, if there were ever anyone who cared to try. It is the natural function of Martin Blackwood, to love and love and love. Again, and again, and again.

_In and out._

Again, and again, and again. No matter how forced, how weak, how shallow. A shuddering breath, taken in and let out. Again and again and again.

_In…_

And again.

_...out._

And again.

_In...._

And again.

_...out._

To some it would seem foolish; to exercise a muscle past the point of usefulness, to keep a heart beating well after the body is cold. Some would call it a tragedy, and they would weep distantly for a heart so Lonely. But it’s been said that drowning is quite peaceful in the end. After the resignation sets in and the panics ebbs away, there is a quiet, encompassing serenity.

_In._

Once the struggling stops, the limbs grow still.

_Out._

The lungs forget the sweetness of the air above. 

_In._

And there’s nothing left.

_Out._

Again.

_Out._

And again.

_Out._

And again.

_Out._

**Author's Note:**

> will revise at a later date, or may incorporate pieces of this into a future work. time will tell.


End file.
